Lay the Past
by Mystic Dragon
Summary: One is injured, unable to talk, and can barely see when he gets out. The other, more confident and speaking once more now that she has been free of Aperture, and has never seen him in his current form. It's a new life, but it's inevitable for the boat to be rocked. Chelly, rated for a little blood in the first chapter.
1. Ch1: The Escape

First Portal 2 fanfic, and an actual fanfic after a length of time that I didn't write any fanfiction. Still, this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

A note: When the characters refer to GLaDOS, the word "she" or "her" is capitalized. In this chapter, there are italics to it as well. The story takes place a few years after the end of Portal 2.

Disclaimer: I don't own Portal, Portal 2, or any of the characters. Otherwise, I'd be rich.

* * *

Lay the Past

Chapter 1: The Escape

He was dying; he knew he was. Some of them had died straight away, when they were transplanted from their safe, robotic cores to the fragile minds of the humans in cryo-storage.

Others died due to a lack of compatibility, or too much corruption in their electronic circuits that didn't fully make it to the human body, and _She_ had no use for brain-damaged Test subjects.

Why was the process done?

Because apparently, robot-like Test subjects due to cognitive deterioration from being in cryo-storage for so long was boring...and because it was just _science_.

That's all; it was _science_.

But he...he had survived the process. Perhaps it had been his obsessive thoughts at the time that didn't really give his mind much more to process, or perhaps he had just been lucky.

He wasn't the only one that survived and were kept alive, either. Adventure had survived...he was currently in Testing, now. Fact had also survived the process, but died during one of the Test chambers since his 'logic' was so warped that he thought that he had a higher probability of surviving a fall down a near-bottomless pit than standing in front of a turret.

His buddy had survived the process, as well, but went through "special" Test chambers, because She had been angry at him. It was a miracle that Wheatley was still alive, he figured, after the two of them had been knocked out of orbit due to a passing meteorite and back down to the very hell they had come from.

Wheatley had been afraid to be back because it meant facing Her; he had been sad to be back because it meant no longer being in space.

He wanted to go back, to space...and as he coughed up blood, he figured that he wasn't too far off.

Wasn't death the same? When he died, he would go to space...that was it, plain and simple.

He slowly opened his eyes. The room he was in painted quite a grim picture, as it was for the "trash" waiting to be taken to the outside.

Adventure had sort of fried the incinerator and put it out of order; how he did that was anyone's guess, but She had been fairly annoyed at that.

It meant that the robotic trash was piling up (or just thrown down the near-bottomless pit to await their burning fate), and those with flesh and blood that died (or were near death) from the Test chambers were thrown into a shaft to be brought to the surface.

_She_ probably couldn't smell the nauseating scent of decay (from what was left of those that weren't incinerated by lasers or disintegrated from the toxic pits), but it was probably more of an aesthetic thing; She didn't want the remains of their 'pitiful human existence' cluttering up any room of her chamber.

So, they were thrown to the surface to die, because if anyone landed themselves in this room, they were near death, ridden with bullet holes, or skeletal remains.

Of course, that didn't mean that the "human trash" was taken out every day. He could probably escape to the surface right now, but would most likely be chased down by one of her droids for operating the lift.

Even if he was dying, and going to be dead soon, _nobody_ was allowed to escape from Her unless they were, as the humans said, "in a bodybag".

Not that _She_ actually put them in bodybags.

Well, it actually wasn't too much of a problem unless the ones that escaped accidentally assumed the...whatever it was called. Something to do with a "party escort"...maybe there was the word "submission" in there, too...he didn't even know what position it _was_, only that if someone still with a pulse got into that position, they would be dragged back down by a 'bot.

Only one human had ever been _allowed_ to leave, and he heard it was the same one that had allowed him into space in the first place.

One of the panels moved, and his dim vision glanced over. He didn't make any move from his slumped position against the wall; he would be dead in probably a couple of hours, maybe less, so there was no reason to move.

Then, he grimaced.

It was Adventure.

She said that Adventure had been promising, if not a little reckless. It seemed as if that recklessness was what got him killed, because his orange jumpsuit was more of a rust color from blood, his chest riddled with bullet holes caused by turrets and...

He nearly gagged when his gaze shifted lower, and hoped that Adventure had been long dead from the bullets before he half fell into the pool of acid.

It was a gruesome sight; he had only been in this room for...how long had it been? Since he had come into contact with the toxic pool that didn't kill him immediately. No, it didn't cause him to vaporize...he survived it, but it was corrosive. He didn't feel any pain, as the part of his brain that controlled that had never worked properly from the start.

_She_ said that he would make an excellent Test subject because of it.

He didn't, as his logic skills weren't quite up to even a quarter of the chambers.

They were all given 'kiddie' Portal Guns; ones that She could easily switch off in the case that they tried to rebel and escape.

Apparently, after the Mute Lady, She had learned her lesson about Portal Guns.

Only Adventure had tried to escape, but that was chalked up to the fact that he was just too "leap before you look".

And he heard that _Wheatley_ was supposed to have bad ideas. Honestly, his space buddy was probably the most sane out of all of them.

Not to mention probably the last one alive that he knew of; he was sure that She was in the process of creating more hybrid test subjects out of those puppets from cryo, but...

When a panel moved and deposited another body, he retracted that statement.

Even his fading vision could recognize Wheatley's human form.

The sandy hair, pale skin, lean form...

Wheatley wasn't as tall as the over-six-foot Adventure, but was taller than Fact and himself.

Yellow eyes roamed over Wheatley's prone form to see what did him in.

There was blood on his abdomen, but whether it had been a clear shot or a deep graze, he didn't know. The location, his tired mind offered, wouldn't have been enough to do him in.

There weren't any losses of body parts, so that ruled out acid pools.

Toxic pools, perhaps? No, Wheatley wasn't just a skeleton (or ashes), and unless the other fell into the same toxic pool that he had fallen into, there was no way to survive a "bath" in a pool of toxins.

Especially with open wounds.

The "scan" continued.

Wheatley was crumpled on his side, so it was difficult to tell the actual extent of the injuries, but his left arm was bent at an odd angle. Apparently, he had taken a jump and had either slipped or didn't land completely on the long-fall boots.

Boots that were always stripped from the dead bodies; what did _they_ have use for them, after all?

He shook his head and continued his gaze. The material by Wheatley's right knee was torn, and bruised and swollen areas around the knee, as if he twisted a landing.

There was blood on his hands, probably from touching the wound on his abdomen, and a dried trickle of blood that went down from the corner of his lip to his chin on both sides of his mouth.

Wheatley's nose had dried blood around it...he had definitely smashed into something, possibly after being nearly rendered one limb less and shot by turrets...and there was a scrape on his forehead that was also covered in dried blood. There was also a slice on his face, possibly from either shrapnel or bullet gracing, that went diagonally across his right eye; it would be a miracle if that eye was still functional...

The observer mentally shook himself. It didn't matter, because Wheatley was dead...they all were, and he was going to join them, soon...

...did Wheatley just move?

Yellow eyes widened as he watched through blurry vision.

Yes...it wasn't his imagination, or the shadows of the wall. Wheatley had _moved_. He was _breathing_.

She thought he had died, but he was still alive...

Whether he was on his way to death or not, the observer didn't know, but he slowly moved himself over. He couldn't feel any pain, after all, so it didn't hurt to drag his body closer to the taller one.

It wasn't an illusion; Wheatley was definitely breathing. It sounded strange, and in wheezes, like there was something wrong with his lungs and throat (or perhaps both), but he was breathing and alive.

He pushed Wheatley so the man was on his back. Like the rest of them, Wheatley looked to be in his mid-twenties, but that wasn't his focus.

His focus went down to the blood on the orange jumpsuit, and he somehow managed to unzip the front to check the damage.

Grazes; the blood hadn't been from being shot through, but from gashes where the bullets had grazed him.

Besides the odd breathing, there was the possibility...could Wheatley survive this?

Yellow eyes closed a moment, then opened and looked at the lift. He, himself, was a goner, and he knew it. Wheatley didn't look to have any of the same symptoms as he did, so he wasn't going to die from poisoning.

Wheatley would die from his wounds if not treated, however.

He would have used his own jumpsuit if he still had one; it had disintegrated completely in the toxic waste, and so as not to melt the entire room, he had been blasted with water before _She_ realized that he was a goner, anyway.

Perhaps the coughing up blood thing was what tipped her off...

Another rattling breath from Wheatley brought his attention back.

Fact was dead.

Adventure was dead.

He was soon to be dead...

But Wheatley was alive.

The lift was right over there...he had seen the 'bots operate to know how it worked when they disposed of Fact's body with other remains. The next scheduled 'dump' wouldn't be for...he didn't know time frames, but he was sure Wheatley would bleed out or die from internal injuries sustained in whatever fall he had before then.

Well, then...

For a chance of one of them surviving, why not?

He staggered to his feet, which caused him to look to the side as he coughed up blood. It wouldn't be long, he knew it, until he died. But he would rather die trying to save his one friend than watching that one friend slowly die before he also succumbed.

He couldn't speak, because when he tried, more blood just bubbled in his throat and mouth.

Instead, he grabbed Wheatley under the arms and started to drag him to the lift.

It was an agonizing process, as his strength was bleeding away in his state of near death, but at least he couldn't feel any burning on what little muscle he had left.

About halfway through, Wheatley coughed, and baby blue eyes opened. His right eye did open, but only halfway, since blood dripped into it. There was probably damage to the eye, but since it wasn't completely dull, that meant he could see out of it.

Wheatley tried to form a word..."what", by the rasping, but nothing came out.

The other couldn't fill him in, but managed to get him in the lift.

Wheatley looked at him in confusion for a moment, then his eyes widened as he got his bearings. Pain crossed his features when he moved suddenly, and he collapsed in the lift, his right arm curled around his middle since his sudden movement had probably opened up the wounds.

When Wheatley looked up again, there were tears in his eyes.

It wasn't just from pain, but probably because Wheatley understood the situation he was in, and what the smile on the face of the other core-turned-human meant.

A farewell smile.

_Live_, it said. _I'm dying, but live._

Then, the doors to the lift closed as the smaller human pulled the lever.

Wheatley reached out in a futile gesture, a name on the tip of his lips that his throat couldn't croak out. He felt the lift move, and mouthed a single word.

_Space..._

Back in the chamber, the little human collapsed next to the lift. A noise was sounding somewhere, but his hearing was fading. The strain he put on his body to get Wheatley into the lift had seemed to accelerate the process of the poison, so all his senses were fading.

He wasn't afraid, though. He had helped his only friend escape, and would soon be back out in the wide expanse of the universe, able to freely roam and see it all without the limitations of orbits.

As his vision faded to black, and the noises buzzed from white noise to silence, the smile on his face spread.

Then, with one last shuddering breath, Space, too, was free of the facility.

* * *

Wheatley wanted to sob, but it hurt. His throat hurt, his chest hurt, his stomach hurt...his arm, his leg, his face...everything hurt, but nothing could compare to what he knew just happened.

Tears rolled down his face, and the salt water stung the scrape on his right cheek, but he continued to cry for his friend.

He thought he had died, when he tripped up his landing while trying to get away from the turrets that opened up wounds in his middle. He had fallen, breathed in something rather caustic, there was pain, and then nothing.

He wasn't dead, though. Wheatley didn't know if he was going to die, or if he would survive, but he swore to do his damnedest to do the latter since Space had sacrificed himself for him.

Wheatley didn't bother to wipe his tears; it was movement that he couldn't afford as the lift slowed to a stop, then a door opened into a blindingly bright area before he was launched out.

The landing did nothing to help his beaten body, and with a painful 'whuff', he landed on his front, arms extended, and the breath knocked out of him. His abdomen seared pain throughout his being, and it was hard to breathe around that...

...as well as the burning in his lungs and throat, but of all the pains, his throat and middle hurt the worst, particularly after that nasty landing.

He looked up, and blinked a couple of times as his eyes adjusted. Yes, there was light all over the facility, but it was artificial sunlight. Real sunlight was something else, and was even brighter as it bounced off the fields of yellow grass...or was it wheat? Wheatley didn't know...and illuminated the Earth.

Something moved in the distance, and with one eye (since it hurt to keep his right eye open), he tried to focus on the figure in the distance.

The person, whomever they were, appeared to be laying down some sort of fence; probably to keep people out of the Aperture area. A very good idea, if he said so himself...if he was able to speak.

He couldn't see much of the person from his position and the tears in his eyes, only that they appeared to be wearing a white tee and denim pants, as well as work boots. Something was strapped to their back, but he couldn't make it out, and a blob of a straw hat covered the person's head.

A whirring noise behind him caught his attention (and the attention of the other person), and Wheatley blanched as a mechanical voice said:

"Thank you for assuming the party escort submission position..."

There was some kind of robot...it looked sort of round with clawed hands and feet, or an even stouter version of that robot called "Atlas" that he had seen...it was hard to make out exactly what it looked like through one blurry eye.

What he _did_ know was that it was reaching for his ankles.

Wheatley scrambled up, then collapsed again as his right leg gave out under him with a sharp pain shooting from his knee that stole his breath momentarily.

The grinding got closer; the robot hadn't given up, and he felt something cold touch his foot.

Wheatley shot to his feet, and tried to ignore the burning pain in his knee. It made him stumble, and he wrapped his good arm around his chest as he doubled over and tried to run away.

He only managed some kind of deranged limp of desperation, particularly since sucking in air caused even more pain in his throat and lungs, and his body felt like it could drop at any time.

There was a loud "CRACK", and then from behind him, the sound of metal hitting the ground.

Wheatley crumpled again, confused, disoriented, in pain, and terrified.

An unfamiliar female voice, though unmistakably human, spoke firmly and fearlessly from somewhere over him. "Stay down!"

There was a click, then another loud CRACK that made Wheatley's ears ring.

The 'bot behind him whirred almost in a whine, or in protest.

"Get lost, you damned robotic Aperture abomination!" the female spoke in a cool, deadly tone.

Wheatley raised his face slightly, and could see a blurry, long thing in her hands. It looked similar to a Portal Gun, except it had a longer barrel that was a metallic color, with a black looking handle...

A shotgun, part of his brain supplied.

The whirring from behind him sounded wrong; the robot had obviously been damaged by the shotgun rounds it had taken. It then decided that this wasn't worth it (or perhaps, something else had told it to retreat, that the human with the gun should be avoided at all costs and the other was as good as dead), and made a hasty retreat back down near an emergency exit close to the garbage lift.

The female that stood above him didn't move until the door closed with a 'clang', and the sound of a lock engaged.

At that point, Wheatley's consciousness had enough, and he let his head fall back onto the ground.

A shift in material from the woman. "Hey...are you alright? Can you hear me?"

That was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Ch2: Thoughts of Hell

Disclaimer says: I don't own Portal 2 or its characters!

Just something to remember, Chell has never seen Wheatley in human form, so she has no idea whom she is saving. Also, Chell's mutism was on purpose (possibly even selective mutism), according to official sources, so there's no reason why she wouldn't start talking again once out of the facility. Hence, why she isn't mute in this story.

On a personal, writer's note, it was interesting to write Chell's character, because I wanted to keep some of the stubbornness and fearlessness that is sort of projected through her character from the series, but at the same time, she's been out of the facility for a few years, and has had time to adjust to living in the outside world again.

* * *

Chapter 2: Thoughts of Hell

The nearest hospital...scratch that, the nearest _town_...was about 30 miles away. Even on the roads where Chell could go over 50, it would still take at least half an hour to get there. It wasn't even the town where she lived, as she had chosen an agricultural village even farther away from the Aperture area.

The most alarming injury on the man was the one that she couldn't see, and the one that was causing his raspy and painful breathing. She knew that something was wrong with his lungs and-or throat, and considering that he came out of Aperture, wearing a Test subject outfit, guessed that it had something to do with poisonous gasses or lasers.

The wounds to his abdomen, two of them in total that was one below the other, which would have looked like someone slashed him had it not been for the fact that Chell _knew_ what turret grazing wounds looked like, were quickly wrapped with the first aid kit she kept in her pickup truck.

She made a crude splint on his right leg with poles from the fence, and wrapped it with a sleeve she cut off of her jacket in the truck (cut off with a switchblade knife).

The man had winced, but didn't stir, through all of it.

She couldn't splint his arm, since the poles were too long and she had nothing to cut them with, but she managed to form a sling out of the rest of her jacket to at least keep that arm fairly immobile.

Now, as she sped down the roads, the question remained...would his internal injuries allow him to survive the rest of the trip to the hospital?

"Stay with me," Chell said to him, glad that the roads around this area were never congested or had many speed limitations.

He gave no indication of hearing her, but the fact that he was still breathing was certainly a plus.

* * *

After all but bursting into the emergency room, and getting him into a wheelchair between her and a nurse, Chell raked a hand through her black hair as she took a seat to wait while he was wheeled into one of the rooms.

His breathing hadn't changed much; still had that raspy, "there's something wrong with my throat and lungs" quality, nor had he woken up. Since he was still alive, and hadn't bled out in her truck, Chell counted that as a plus.

Hopefully, she had gotten him here on time, though she wondered who he was. From her understanding, she had been the only Test Subject to survive the power outage that Aperture suffered while in cryo.

Maybe there were other humans, ones that Wheatley hadn't been responsible for, that survived? Or perhaps there was an even deeper level of cyro-sleep...

Chell had blocked out many memories of Aperture as she could, but she vaguely remembered GLaDOS saying something about a frozen storage unit. Perhaps he was someone who had been in complete stasis, frozen in time, and unaffected by the power outage...

...or the damage that Wheatley did to the facility when he went crazy.

Chell tried not to think of _that_ bit, either. Just when she had started to warm up to the little ball, since he _had_ busted her out of what was probably a lethal test chamber and helped her disable the turret lines and shut off the neurotoxin (which, of course, begged the question of how he was able to turn it back on in the very end).

He obviously couldn't have left by himself, and needed her just as she needed him to get out.

It had been a partnership, not a friendship...but it still had angered her when he turned around and betrayed her.

Looking back on it, Chell actually supposed that the entire mainframe of Aperture was corrupt; even after deleting Caroline, the one human fragment she had left that acted as a conscious, GLaDOS had still let her go.

Chell chalked that up to the time GLaDOS spent while not hooked up to the mainframe.

Just as Wheatley had been as pleasant as an Aperture creation could be when not connected to the Central room's chassis, even GLaDOS had been tolerable as a potato.

It just affirmed her theory.

So, did it hurt that Wheatley betrayed her?

Somewhat; it had been more aggravating and horrifying than painful. She didn't trust _anything_ down in Aperture, and that extended to Wheatley. They had been partners, and nothing more, but being betrayed still, for lack of better words, sucked.

Was she still angry at him?

Not really, but he wasn't in front of her, now was he?

She might give him a kick for good measure if he rolled up in front of her, or fell back onto Earth (saying he survived reentry), and to express just how _angry_ she had been for him stabbing her in the back.

Grudges...did she hold a grudge against him?

No.

Chell leaned back in her seat. Wheatley going crazy with the facility was the best thing that could have happened, second to their original plan actually working before he got corrupted by the mainframe.

After all, in the off chance that GLaDOS managed to come back after the core transfer, Chell might be targeted even on the surface. By Wheatley's insanity making GLaDOS realize that it was just too hard to kill her, Chell had guaranteed her freedom in the outside world.

Now, after four years of freedom, she only went back to lay a fence around the perimeter of Aperture grounds, so that no poor sap wandered in and wound up as a Test subject.

Chell closed her eyes and let out a silent sigh as she sat on the chair.

Perhaps she wouldn't kick Wheatley if she saw him again. She hadn't given it much thought since she got out of Aperture, but rescuing that man was bringing back all of the things that she had pushed out of her mind.

Honestly, she was still a little sore at his betrayal, but it wasn't worth dwelling on.

It was the same with all of the questions revolving around Aperture in general; best to just forget about it and _live_.

That's what Chell decided all that time ago. She hadn't really known what to do with the crispy Companion Cube; it had been with her through one test, yet it was still an Aperture device.

After Wheatley's betrayal, and the recorded messages basically stating that the Cubes all had some semblance of 'personality' or 'awareness' (or whatever that message had said), she hadn't been too eager to drag it with her.

So, she had left it back there. Perhaps an animal would find a better use for it; she had no need for Aperture devices, and never wanted to see one, again.

It had been incredibly easy to shoot that blasted robot that had been attempting to drag the man back down. In fact, it had felt good to blast the thing's optical core off of it, and put a piece of lead into its wiring. If it hadn't turned back, she would have loaded another shell in and pumped more lead into it.

It was ironic, really; she wanted nothing more to do with Aperture, and here she was, waiting for word on the escapee that she had found in the fields.

Then again, humans were different from machines, and this guy could have gone through just as much as she had.

_I'm just waiting to see if he survived._ That's what she told herself, though honestly, she didn't know what she would do if he had survived.

Chell crossed her arms over her chest casually. _I guess it will depend how much knowledge of the outside world he had._

Before she became a Test Subject, she had been outside; she had prior knowledge of the outside world, so she was able to fit back in. That, and being in an agricultural community, it eased the transition.

She wasn't heartless, so maybe that's why she was waiting around; he had been another Test subject, and the both of them were human.

That was the bottom line.

* * *

"Chell?"

The name came from one of the nurses, who held a clipboard in her hands.

"That's me." Chell stood up and walked over. To be honest, she had nearly fallen asleep, since there was little to do in the waiting room, and it had been quite a long time since they first wheeled the stranger in.

"Your friend is out of surgery. We can't be sure of how much damage there was to his right eye, but he might need corrective lenses to see properly out of it. We didn't have to remove it, though."

That was a plus.

"There was no sign of infection in the open wounds, which we stitched up. There was a fracture in his ulna, so we've set that and put him in a cast. It should be fully healed in four weeks, though we can remove the cast after three. His knee had tissue damage to it, a sprain, and will probably take approximately three to four weeks to heal; we've set him up with a brace for the time being."

Chell grimaced at the line of injuries. Only the facial wound and abdomen wounds were from turrets, she was sure, which meant that the others had to have come from another part of the test.

Actually, it sounded like the man fell and didn't quite land on his feet.

"Then, there was the damage to his lungs and throat."

Right. _That_.

"We aren't sure what caused it, but whatever it was damaged his vocal cords more than his lungs, but also caused some damage there. In other words, he might never be able to speak again when it scars over on his vocal cords. There's a chance, but it's only slight. Also, though the damage to his lungs wasn't quite as extensive, we believe that it's possible for him to become prone to respiratory infections or develop asthma. Or, he might just recover on his own without any issues. He can breathe on his own, though we have him hooked up as a precaution."

Chell let out a breath of relief. She had a feeling that the damage was caused by something breathed in; anything toxic in Aperture that was swallowed would have done damage to the rest of his system as well. For that to be the _extent_ of the damage was quite optimistic.

The nurse looked up from her clipboard. "Will you be covering his stay, here? Are you a resident?"

When Chell told the nurse where _she_ lived, the woman was shocked.

"That's...wow, that's quite a distance. Were you visiting someone, here?"

"It was a road trip," Chell responded. Visiting...yea, right.

The nurse gave a nod. "We can release him to you, as there's nothing more we can do for him besides monitor his throat and lungs..."

She had already paid for his treatment, so why not? Even though she didn't know anything about him (even though she told the nurse that he was an "old friend whose name escapes me"), he had come out of Aperture.

Communication would be difficult, especially if he couldn't read or write, but that hurdle could be overcome.

"I'll take care of him," Chell declared. "Are there any special instructions I need to follow as he recovers?"

The nurse nodded, then went to write up a list of instructions and go over them with Chell, who wondered what she was getting herself into.

Was it because she was lonely, that she was taking in this other Test Subject from Aperture?

Was it pity?

Was it that she could only tell her walls (and her journal) what she had gone through at Aperture, or about bad dreams about still being within its walls, and now had someone else to share the nightmare with to lessen it?

She really didn't know; maybe it was "all of the above".

Or, maybe it was just that she was human, and had been helped by unknowing humans. This time, she could return the favor...only in her case, she knew _exactly_ what sort of hell (or at least part of it) that he had been put through.

One way or another, she found herself with the papers of information on his injuries and instructions on care (she wasn't a stranger to injuries and caring for them between her time in Aperture and working on a farm amongst mostly older neighbors, but wasn't sure about the damage to his throat).

Then, she found herself signing his release form from the hospital.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	3. Ch3: Awakening

Again, standard disclaimers apply.

This chapter gets into the actual premise I thought up of for the story, which was basically: Hey, what if Wheatley gets out of Aperture after returning and being turned human, and runs into Chell, but neither knows who the other is. Then, they get to know one another before either of them realizes who the other is.

A funny note, for the last scene of the chapter, I actually mouthed words in the mirror to see just how easy it would be to pick up on letters for someone who doesn't know how to read lips. Could be because I'm awful at body language, but it was freak'n hard.

Anyways, onward!

* * *

Chapter 3: Awakening

Wheatley had been in and out of consciousness from when he woke up at the hospital, to being transferred to Chell's car, and then was out for the entire rest of the trip.

Chell had to admit, he looked a lot better without the blood caking him, though she had to run out and buy a set of clothing for him while she waited for him to regain enough consciousness to allow him to leave the hospital since the staff had all but burned what he came in with.

Chell didn't blame them; she would have burned the Aperture Test Subject outfit if they hadn't.

They kept him in the blue hospital tunic, which was designed to be easily taken on and off around his left arm being immobilized, but had changed him into a pair of gray track pants and sandals. He had been awake for that, but not very coherent since they had him on pain medication, and was currently still asleep as Chell finally pulled up to her house.

It was actually a one story flat in front of farmland; she raised vegetables, so there were fields behind the house, along with a shed.

The house itself was simple and unpainted, leaving the natural wood in its place, and was a two bedroom, one bathroom flat (though she used the other bedroom as a storage area for the time being).

The entertainment area was to the left of the entrance, and in an "L" shape from there, was the dining room and back to the kitchen across from the entrance. To the left was a hallway, where the two bedrooms were located diagonally from one another, with a couple closets in there and the bathtub/shower and toilet at the end of the hall.

The exterior and interior were made of wood; Chell hadn't bothered to paint either side of the house, since the natural material and look was a vast improvement over white or metal panels of Aperture.

Now came the tricky part, and that was getting Wheatley (though she didn't know it was Wheatley) into the house. She had been allowed a wheelchair for him to use, as well as a pair of crutches for when his arm healed.

Chell didn't bother to wake him up, and just transferred him to the wheelchair she unfolded from the back of her truck. Thankfully, it wasn't as tricky as she thought it would be, and she managed to do it without banging any of his injuries.

That done, it was a simple task to wheel him into the house, then transfer him to the couch.

There wasn't another bed for him to use, and one of her "things to do" became "go into town and get one", so the couch would do for now since it was actually long enough to accommodate him.

Chell got a pillow under his right leg to elevate it, then found a blanket and draped it over him.

Still, he didn't wake.

So, Chell went about clearing out the second bedroom. There wasn't much to clear out, just a few boxes of this, or some books on agriculture. At least there would be one piece of furniture in the room: A bookshelf.

Chell wiped her hands on her jeans, then heard movement and went to check it out.

Wheatley hadn't expected to wake up again, and couldn't remember anything from the time he passed out in the fields outside of Aperture until now, else he might have been a little more frightened about his predicament.

When Chell appeared in the doorway, his eyes focused on her (well, one of them did; everything in his right eye was blurry, and he couldn't seem to get it to focus) it was quite disorienting, actually, so he closed his eyes.

Wheatley opened his mouth to ask where he was, but all that came out was a croak, followed by pain in his throat that nearly made him cough.

"Don't try to talk," Chell instructed gently. "There was damage to your vocal cords."

Wheatley opened his eyes again, but that just made him dizzy, so he closed them and grimaced.

"Don't try to move around much, either...your left arm is on the mend, so it's in a cast, and your right knee was about the size of a grapefruit."

Wheatley mouthed the word 'grapefruit' with a crease of his brow in confusion.

"Right...I forgot about that...it's a round fruit, a piece of food, just slightly larger than your fist. Does anything hurt?" Chell doubted if anything did, since he should still be on the pain medication.

Then again, it was most likely going to wear off soon. She had a prescription for him that she had filled, but didn't want to give it to him early.

Wheatley hesitated. What hurt? His head felt fuzzy, he couldn't focus his vision, he didn't remember how he _got_ here...wait, where was _here_?

Chell saw lines of panic start to etch on his face as he attempted to look around, only to squeeze his eyes shut and grip the blanket tightly with his good hand. As if she understood, she said, "You're at my house...I found you outside of that damned Aperture complex. My name is Chell."

Wheatley didn't know that name, but picked up on the contempt in her voice when she said the word 'Aperture'. He wanted to ask about it, but he remembered the last time he tried to speak, and decided against it.

"Can you see?"

Wheatley started to nod, then gave his head a small shake.

"I'll take that as a 'sort of'. The nurse did say that you might have some damage to you right eye...I suppose, when you're feeling better, a trip to an optometrist is in order. It's a small town outside of the farmland, but there _is_ one in the hospital here."

Wheatley had no clue what an 'optometrist' was, but figured it had something to do with helping him to actually _see_ without getting dizzy or disoriented.

"You're safe, just to let you know," Chell remembered spending many sleepless (and nightmare filled) nights, wondering if she was _truly_ safe and rid of Aperture. Nobody had reassured her at the time, because nobody _knew_.

Wheatley's eyes flew open again, only to squeeze them shut in defense of the dizziness.

"You might not believe me, but I used to be a Test subject at Aperture, too. I got out, though, so I know at least the basics of what you're going through. You're not alone, and you're _safe_."

Though he couldn't make any sounds, just hearing those words made tears roll down Wheatley's cheeks. He trusted this unknown woman...mostly because she had helped him. His foggy memory supplied that she had attacked the 'bot that tried to drag him back to the facility, and must have been the one that brought him to a 'nurse', and was now the one that had let him into her home.

Chell reached out and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, then let her hand travel upwards and stroked his hair soothingly. "It's alright. It's okay, now. I promise. You might not believe me, but it's true."

Wheatley took a shuddering breath. His throat felt scratchy and raw, and his crying hadn't helped any, but the woman's touch had alleviated the emotional conflict within him, at least.

He _did_ trust her. To try and express that, he blindly reached up with his right hand.

Chell saw, and took it with her free hand. She was slightly surprised, but relieved at the same time, when he weakly squeezed her hand.

_I trust you._

Wheatley silently yawned, then grimaced.

"Rest, if you're tired. I'll be right here...the crops will be fine for the rest of what's left of today. If you need anything..." Chell paused, then slowly moved his hand so that he could feel where an end table was close to him. "...just give that a pound. It's a durable table, so it can stand up to a hit or two, no worries."

Something about her soothed him, so Wheatley gave a weak nod.

Chell stayed next to him until she was sure he had drifted off. Only then did she stand up and head over to the phone to make an appointment for him to see an optometrist.

* * *

For the next few days, Wheatley mostly slept (with the aid of the pain killers and anti-inflammatory drugs, most likely). During the time he was awake, Chell would often tell him various things about the outside world, starting with the little agricultural community and branching out to other things.

Wheatley mostly kept his eyes closed, since opening them was disorienting and displayed a blurry picture. He enjoyed Chell's tales and talk of the world, and wished he could ask questions.

Though, Chell seemed to gather when he wanted to question something.

Other times were spent with Chell changing his bandages, or even going so far as to give him a sponge bath (though, she had him keep his boxers on and told him that he had a perfectly functioning hand, and could wash his privates, himself).

Wheatley hadn't been embarrassed, since he didn't know anything about social conformity, though he had sensed (more than seen, since Chell was just a blurry blob to him when he opened his eyes) that it made Chell _extremely_ uncomfortable when he raised his good hand in a shrug and tilted his head; his way of saying "why"?

Chell had walked out after that, thoroughly embarrassed, but when she returned a few minutes later to help him into a set of clean clothes, she explained (very briefly) about nudity and that it wasn't socially acceptable to be in the nude (or showing one's nether regions) in public or to the opposite sex unless they were married.

Then, she had to explain what marriage was.

At least it was easier than glossing over (and trying to find words for) the reason why being completely naked wasn't acceptable.

Another thing Chell found out was that he couldn't write. She had tried to find some way for him to communicate with her besides vague, self-invented hand gestures and awkward tilts of the head (since he seemed also unaware of how to communicate with body language).

Of course, him having blurry vision would make it difficult to see what he was writing, but she supposed it was still possible...had he been able to write, that was.

Oddly enough, he _could_ read, he just couldn't write (and currently, and perhaps permanently, couldn't speak).

Chell tried to keep her questions to "yes" or "no" questions, so he would either shake his head in the proper gesture or tap a surface once for "yes" and twice for "no".

He was an agreeable sort to be around, and extremely friendly. Despite everything that had happened to him, Chell saw him smile a few times when she was around.

It was like a child, Chell decided. A child that didn't know anything of the outside world, and still had to learn about it.

Perhaps it was because he was so easy to be around, but she found herself planning on buying some writing guides to show him how to at least write his name.

* * *

"Hey. You know, having to get your attention with 'hey' isn't really saying someone's name...do you have a name?" Chell asked a week after he had been with her, and a day before his hospital checkup tomorrow (and appointment with the optometrist).

Wheatley opened his eyes from where he sat on the couch. It was easier now to keep them open even though everything was blurry, because he didn't have that splitting headache like he did when he first got out.

Though he now had his own bed (delivered near the end of the week after Chell placed the order), they often sat in the entertainment room when Chell could take a break from working on the field and when Wheatley felt strong enough to move around (or was just awake).

Wheatley then nodded to the question.

"I can't read lips, so mouthing it won't work..." Chell mumbled. "Unless it's a really easy name? Try to sound it out without talking."

He did, he truly did. But, it was bloody hard to mouth "Wheatley" in a way that could be understood by someone that didn't read lips.

"Okay...a possible "Y"...I think there's an "L", too..." Chell shook her head. "Can you mouth it again?"

So he did.

Chell attempted to repeat it, but just shook her head. "No good. I have no idea. I suppose it's not a common name, then. Well, I'll show you how to write, and then you can write it. How does that sound?"

Wheatley perked up, and nodded with a puppy-like expression.

Chell laughed, and ruffled his hair affectionately.

Wheatley beamed, as he found that gesture reassuring and warm. It meant she _likes_ him; someone actually likes him! Well, the other cores might have, but he wasn't used to being liked.

"Still, I can't go around calling you "Hey, You"..."

Wheatley's mouth quirked into a grin at her sense of humor.

"So, maybe something temporary? A nickname of sorts until I learn your actual name. What do you think?"

Wheatley bobbed his head in a nod. Fine with him! Though, he _was_ sort of getting used to "Hey, You", to be perfectly honest.

"Let's see...I've had some choice words for things that piss me off, but never thought of _names_ before..." Chell mused.

Wheatley just leaned against her on the couch. One thing he realized was that he craved attention and physical contact; most of it was from his first few days, when opening his eyes caused disorientation, so he was literally left in the dark and could only find his way around with her touch and help.

It let him know that someone was _there_, and they were _alive and well_. None of them had been _well_ during the Tests. It was even better since he knew that Chell didn't mind the contact (though, she had jumped the first time), and liked him enough to allow him to do it.

To Chell, it reminded her of a puppy. Most of the things he did reminded her of a puppy, actually.

"How about like the color of your eyes? Blue."

Wheatley stiffened and recoiled, then shook his head. He hadn't had much contact with Blue and Orange...or, Atlas and P-Body...but he knew of them, and knew what She called them...

"It's alright." Chell was alarmed by his reaction, and reached out slowly to take his hand.

Wheatley didn't cringe away, and merely bowed his head. He would have loved to try and explain it to her; that it was the name of one of Her faithful robots, but his voice still didn't work. On the occasional time he _did_ try to speak, it was incredibly painful and earned him either a light and reprimanding tap to the head or a glare from Chell since he wasn't fully healed.

"Aperture?" Chell asked softly.

Wheatley nodded as he felt tears well up in his eyes. Just the _name_ of the place brought back the memories that terrified him, while he was also ashamed and frustrated that he couldn't just outright _tell her_ all of these things.

Chell wasn't one to initiate much in the way of physical contact (except when she had to guide him), but she put an arm around his quaking shoulders carefully.

Wheatley looked up at her in surprise and opened his mouth.

Chell gave him a stern "don't even think about trying to talk" look.

Wheatley shut his mouth again and pouted, but leaned into her side again and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Well, since you, no offense, remind me of a puppy..."

Wheatley smiled up at her as if to say "none taken".

"...how about 'Ace'? It has nothing to do with that place, as far as I know, and can also be a human name." She had truthfully considered "Lucky", but he _was_ human, even if he _did_ remind her of a puppy.

It was an odd name, but Wheatley wasn't going to be picky, and as soon as he could tell her his real name, they would switch back to that. So, he nodded.

"Great." Chell smiled at him.

And, he smiled back. For now, he was safe and cared for, and he liked that feeling.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	4. Ch4: Wheatley's Revelation

And again, standard disclaimers apply.

A shorter chapter, with a little more angst.

* * *

Chapter 4: Wheatley's Revelation

"He's healing well," the nurse said to Chell as Wheatley was eagerly trying on his new, round-framed spectacles. The check-up was decided to be after the optometrist appointment, so that they would have time to fit the proper prescription lenses.

The nurse looked at her clipboard. "There appears to be no damage to the lungs, which is a miracle in itself, so there's hope that he might eventually regain his ability to speak. There was no infection or complication to the cuts on his abdomen, and the wound by his eye shouldn't even leave a scar."

It hadn't even been too deep, but Chell suspect that the damage to his eye had been due to heat; that, or the grazing. Had it been any deeper, she figured he would have lost the eye completely.

Wheatley, meanwhile, eagerly received his glasses from the counter as he sat in his wheelchair, and instantly put them on. The world was suddenly in _focus_ again! It was amazing!

No dull throbbing from keeping his eyes open for too long, and...and no blurry things! Oh, how he wanted to jump up and down in joy, or talk excitedly about this small triumph, but he couldn't do either.

Instead, he turned to where Chell stood with the nurse, with the full intention of waving the arm that wasn't in a sling to get her attention, and stopped in his tracks.

_No...no way._ It had to be an illusion.

Wheatley's smile instantly faded as he shakily pulled the glasses off, blew on them, then put them back on.

When the illusion stayed, he pinched himself.

Pain.

Not an illusion, then.

Wheatley felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a whirlwind of thoughts breezed through his head. _It's her...it's...I mean, I wondered how she knew so much about Aperture, and said she knew what I was going through...always wondered about that, but never even thought..._

He had never even guessed that Chell could be the Mute Lady. GLaDOS had said that the mute was gone, so Wheatley had presumed that to be dead, and when he shouted at the mechanized female voice for killing her, GLaDOS hadn't corrected him.

That had just led him to believe...

But, of course, GLaDOS was a gifted (and most likely pathological) liar, and enjoyed to see others suffer for science.

Or in his case, She just enjoyed to see him suffer.

Wheatley trembled. _It __**is**__ her...she doesn't know it's me, so...maybe...but no...I can't just keep deceiving her! She deserves a proper apology, even if she...oh, God, what if she throws me out?_

More than being physically harmed, at this point, Wheatley's greatest fear was that Chell would abandon him. Now that he knew who she was, and then it was only a matter of time until the opposite occurred, that could very well become reality.

_I was a monster...I was so cruel to her. I...I tried to bloody __**kill**__ her! That itch just was...it was part of that...but that's no excuse! I stabbed her in the back right on the verge of escape, shunted her down a pit...though to be honest, I didn't mean to do that...and tested and tested, and...and...the spike plates..._

Again, a thought occurred to him...to make up a name for himself. To change his name when she taught him how to write, and she would never knew. She knew him as a core, not as a human...

But, no, that wouldn't be right.

As completely terrified as he was of what she would do to him (and thoughts of dumping him back at Aperture, or in some field miles from civilization, or even taking that shotgun of hers and putting him out of his misery flooded his mind), he just couldn't lie to her.

Not after everything she had done; all the kindness she had showed, and how he had wronged her in the past. He felt awful for even _thinking_ of lying to her; she had shown him nothing but kindness, not knowing who he was, and had still taken him in, fixed him up...

_I'm such a twat. A no good, back stabbing twat. _

Chell was currently paying for his lenses, which he thought for a moment might be malfunctioning since his vision was suddenly blurry again as he stared at her. It was slightly difficult to breathe, particularly through his nose, and he felt something on his cheeks.

Chell was surprised, therefore, when she turned around to see him in tears. "What's wrong? Ace?"

Wheatley shook his head quickly and jabbed a thumb at his chest, then shook his head again. _Don't call me that...of all the nicknames, and other names to call me, 'ace' is the __**last**__ thing I should be called after what I did to you!_

Chell went over, and was surprised when he recoiled when she reached out her hand.

The nurse said something, but Wheatley's focus was completely on Chell.

_I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

"Does something hurt?" Chell asked, worried about this sudden behavior. By the pinched expression on his face and the haunted look in his eyes (before he had squeezed them shut), she highly doubted that these were happy tears.

Wheatley shook his head 'no', then tried to apologize.

"No talking!" Chell quickly reminded him.

Wheatley looked up at her pitifully, then went for mouthing the word over and over again.

Chell had no clue what he was trying to say, and glanced at the nurse worriedly. The woman had said that it looked like it was a breakdown of some sort, but Chell wasn't paying much attention to the nurse.

"I'm no expert in reading lips..." the nurse tilted her head slightly. "But he might be saying 'sorry'."

Wheatley nodded empathetically.

"For what? My paying for everything? That's nothing to be sorry about," Chell spoke in what she hoped was a soothing tone.

Wheatley closed his eyes again with a shudder. _No...well, yes, there's that, but that's not it!_

Since he didn't pull away this time, Chell ran a hand through his hair.

Wheatley started, and his breath hitched which caused a lance of pain to go through his throat, but he didn't pull away.

"It's alright." Chell was honestly puzzled by this new behavior, but if it wasn't his injuries or guilt at being paid for (now that she thought about it, the concept of money and paying for things was something that would have to be explained, as Aperture sort of didn't have that), then her only guess was that it had something to do with Aperture, and perhaps memories that surfaced now that he could see clearly.

Chell couldn't see anything in the room they were in (well, besides that camera in the corner, there) that would have reminded him of Aperture, but perhaps he had gone through something that she didn't during his time there.

"Hey," Chell spoke soothingly as she pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed his tears away. "Nothing is going to hurt you, here. You're safe, and there's nothing to be sorry for. Everything is fine."

The nurse probably thought he was a basket case, and that Chell was also borderline one, but Chell didn't care what others thought.

Wheatley's quiet hysteria lessened, though he looked at her with a pained expression. _You wouldn't be doing all of this for me if you knew what sort of a monster I was. If you knew who I was...if I had been able to talk, or if you had been able to read lips and caught my name when I first mouthed it..._

Still, the motion through his hair that she had never stopped was soothing, along with how gentle she was. She was always gentle, now that he thought about it.

Chell smiled at him when he focused his gaze on her. "I promise."

Wheatley closed his eyes again and bowed his head. _Until you find out who I am. But...if my fate is to be hated and abandoned anyway, maybe I should just try to enjoy this as much as I can. Until she learns my name, and I _**_will_**_ tell her, because she completely deserves to know, though I don't deserve her kindness...if moments like these are going to stop when she learns the truth..._

The nurse wanted to check on his throat again (and run some quick diagnostics to make sure nothing else was wrong), but Chell shook her head.

"In a moment." Chell put her handkerchief back in her pocket and took Wheatley's hand, then gave it a gentle squeeze. She started to call him by the nickname, then stopped, since perhaps that had somehow freaked him out.

Maybe being able to see brought back a memory of that word that he didn't recall before?

"Hey," Chell just stuck with something general. "Are you feeling better?"

Wheatley couldn't seem to meet her gaze, but nodded wearily.

"Tired?" Chell inquired as she stroked his hair again.

Another nod. _I'm bloody knackered...maybe if I go to sleep, when I wake up, I'll find out that this has all been a bad dream._

"The nurse wants to run some quick checks, then we'll go home and you can sleep, alright? Can you be brave a little longer?"

Brave...did she really think he was brave? He was a bloody coward and a...a...!

A day didn't go by when he didn't regret what he had done to her, but the kindness he was shown had at least temporarily alleviated his guilt and pain.

Now, though...

Yet, he gave a small nod.

Chell was glad that she had the foresight to buy the books she had needed in the waiting time between his appointment and when they filled the lens prescriptions, else it would have been another trip back to town, which was a twenty minute drive from the farmland.

Still, she smiled proudly at him.

That both encouraged Wheatley and drove the stake of guilt further into his heart.

"Good. You're doing very well. I'll be here the entire time, so let's get this over with, and get back home, alright?"

Wheatley managed a tired nod. Her being there...being proud...home...he was sure he would lose it all when she found out who he was. But for now, he would savor the kindness she gave him, just in case it was the last bits that he ever got.

_I am truly, honestly, sorry._

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	5. Ch5: Puppy

Standard disclaimers apply!

I was going to write out Chell's dream, but it just involved the betrayal scene, and I really don't want to rewrite things when everyone knows what happened.

* * *

Chapter 5: Puppy

It had been a long time since Chell woke up in the middle of the night, heart racing and coated in sweat, from a "dream" about Aperture. The word "dream" in the loosest sense of the word, as it was either doing never ending testing with a sardonic voice spouting put-downs, or reliving a situation that had occurred that went horribly wrong and resulted in her death (or maiming) instead of escape.

Chell threw off the covers and stood up to get a drink of water.

This time, for some odd reason, she had a dream about the elevator rising up to freedom after Wheatley was plugged into the central chassis, going up, and up...and then that dreaded sentence:

_"Actually, why do we have to leave right now?"_

Chell shivered in the cool air and let out a silent sigh as she left her room and squinted to make her way down the darkened hallway. _It's probably because of that man that escaped Aperture..._

Her thoughts trailed off when she heard a 'thud', and doubled back to the room said man was in where the noise had come from.

Chell had no idea if he had nightmares about his time in Aperture once he was off the pain medication, but it was highly likely that he did, now that she thought about it.

Still, she rarely heard any noises (given that he couldn't speak), so this one warranted investigation.

He liked to have his door open, so Chell merely had to look in.

Wheatley was attempting to toss and turn, but the blankets had wound their way around him in something of a stranglehold, and the 'thud' had been one of his feet (Chell hoped it was the one attached to the uninjured leg) that had hit the wall in his struggle.

The room wasn't too much different from Chell's in design; it had a window across from the door, and a bed to the right of that. Following the wall around was a nightstand and a dresser, and on the wall across from the nightstand, a small bookshelf (which currently was stocked with the books they would be using to help him learn to write), and a desk under the window.

Wheatley's mouth was open in a silent scream, and he twitched now and then, but had yet to wake up.

So, Chell flipped on the light and then went over to do the honors in order to prevent him from hurting himself further.

* * *

_Wheatley was in a field of grass with a random tree in the middle of it, after having been knocked out and taken there. For some reason, in this place, he could talk, and the "knocked out" part had occurred shortly after the "pounded on" part, which happened just after he told Chell who he really was._

_Her eyes had darkened, and her lip had curled up. Her entire body had tensed, and a murderous look passed through her eyes._

_Then, he couldn't talk again; he couldn't apologize, or tell her how truly sorry he really was._

_Even now, in the field and being tied against at tree with ropes, he couldn't speak._

_He tried to; he tried to scream that he was sorry; he tried to scream apologies, and that he wouldn't ask for forgiveness, but for her to at least not kill him, or leave him here._

_Wheatley didn't even know where "here" was._

_The entire time, Chell said nothing, just like back in Aperture. She didn't talk to him, and when she actually looked up at him, the glare she gave him made him stop trying to make sounds come out of his throat._

_A look of pure venom and __**hate**__, that he had never seen before; not even when he first stabbed her in the back in the facility, or when he was trying to kill her in that last battle, she had looked more apathetic than anything else._

_Oh, there had been a moment of surprise that faded into disbelief and disappointment when he first lowered that elevator back down, but after that, it was just solemn resoluteness._

_Now, there was hatred; burning hatred, twisted even worse than the look she got when she mentioned Aperture, or when she had shot that robot down when it chased him in the fields._

_No no no no...he pleaded, begged...Space wanted me to live! He could have begged for his own life to be spared, for some antidote to whatever was ailing him, but had gotten me into that elevator! He had given himself a death sentence for my freedom!_

_She couldn't hear him, and if his voice actually worked and she did hear him, she gave no indication of it as she tightened the ropes._

_He didn't want this...please listen! _

_But she didn't, or she couldn't hear him._

_She just tightened the knots again that firmly held him to the tree in the middle of nowhere. Then, she shot him an evil look, and turned to walk away and leave him._

_Wheatley cried out again, but again, his voice didn't come anymore. Again, she started to fade away._

_No amount of struggling helped...in fact, the ropes seemed to change into wires that just wound tighter around him the more he did struggle. Before she vanished completely, she turned around, opened her mouth..._

_"Hey. Wake up."_

_...huh?_

* * *

Wheatley's eyes shot open to a lit room with a blurry wooden ceiling, and another blur...

He recoiled instantly when he recognized this blur to be Chell (as he was able to recognize her without his glasses).

Or, he tried to recoil, but something held him down...

The ropes! There really were ropes! Maybe this was the inside of the tree that he had been pulled into after being abandoned in the middle of the field!

Chell pulled her hand back and saw his eyes dart around feverishly. _He's still trapped in the nightmare..._ "It's alright. You're in my house, and you're safe. You _are_ tangled in the blankets, though."

House? Safe? But he had been...

Blankets?

Oh.

Wheatley trembled as he slowly realized it, and focused on the blur that was Chell.

He hadn't told her, yet...she hadn't abandoned him. He was in her house...

_But she will abandon me_, part of his mind supplied. Maybe the dream wasn't too far off.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, because for all of his terror, he knew that, when he learned how to write his name, he would tell her because she didn't deserve to be lied to on top of everything else he had done to her.

"I'm going to get you untangled from the blankets before you get hurt. Do you know where you are, now?"

He gave a nod as he closed his eyes to let the tears flow.

Chell gave him a sympathetic look, which he didn't see, then slowly and carefully unwound the blankets from him. "It's not just you. My first year out of Aperture, I had nightmare after nightmare."

Wheatley knew it was supposed to make him feel better, but it just made him feel worse, and he silently sobbed. _Nightmares that I caused, I'll bet._

"Sometimes, I'll just be testing infinitely. Other times, something will go horribly wrong. But it's just a dream...it can't hurt you." Chell finally got the blanket untangled from him, then straightened them out back over him. "Remember that...it was just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you, and you're not there anymore. Whatever happened in the dream, it wasn't _real_."

Wheatley sniffled. _But it might be...if only you knew...you wouldn't be..._

Chell carefully helped him to sit up, then wrapped her arms around him.

Wheatley had been too surprised and feeling too down to realize it until the warmth spread from the center of his being. The tears flowed more freely, and though he was still afraid of what would happen when the truth came out, he buried his head in her shoulder.

Chell whispered assurances to him, even as she felt the material of her pajamas get wet from his tears. _Aperture really did a number on him..._

Despite her own nightmares, she had never woke up crying...

Chell blinked when his good hand moved up to grip her sleeve in desperation. She relaxed and slowly ran a hand up and down his back. "You're not alone...you're free...it's alright...She can't get you here..."

Chell paused, then chuckled. "Actually, She doesn't want anything to do with me. According to Her, I'm a dangerous lunatic. You're actually safer here than anywhere else. Nothing is going to hurt you..."

_You might. Nothing less than I deserve, but...when you learn the truth..._still, Wheatley's tears were slowly stopping, and the fear was slowly dissolving in the embrace.

"...especially not Her. Forget whatever She said to you. They're just lies and lines made to make you feel worse. Pissed me off more than anything else. In any case, you're safe."

Wheatley shuddered slightly as his tears stopped. _For now, I'm safe..._

Chell allowed herself to fall silent, and just continued to hold him until his grip on her sleeve relaxed, and he stopped trembling.

Wheatley wondered how it was possible to feel so safe with the same person that could (and probably would) turn around and leave him tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere when she found out her identity. _Is this what a paradox is? _

"Feel better?" Chell asked after a few more moments.

Wheatley was surprised to note that, yes, he _did_ feel better. Right now, she was the nice and kind Chell, the one that had put her days of Aperture behind her and didn't know who he really was.

So, he nodded.

"Does anything hurt?" Chell wanted to make sure that he didn't pull stitches or make his healing arm or leg worse.

Wheatley was slightly surprised to find that, no, he wasn't in pain. Oh, sure, there were the dull throbs he had gotten slightly used to from his knee, and the uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but it didn't hurt worse than usual.

He shook his head.

"I was going to get some water...would you like some? You should probably have some either way..." Chell mused.

Wheatley hesitated, then attempted to curl up against her. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted this nice, kind Chell, who chased away the shadows and made him feel better (and equally guilty at times), to stay.

Chell chuckled. "Alright. You really _are_ like a puppy."

Wheatley sighed silently in contentment. Her calling him a 'puppy' was actually something he enjoyed; he knew she wasn't making fun of him, and it was more of a term of endearment.

"A little longer, then." Chell couldn't argue that even she felt warm and comforted in the embrace, though it had been meant to calm him down. _There's something warm about him, and companionable._

Perhaps that was why she often compared him to a puppy; besides the never ending curiosity of the world he was in, and the craving for physical contact, he was just the sort that was easy to be around.

Or, more like she just felt at ease with him; this grown-up child, this human puppy.

Chell found that she actually liked that feeling, and rather enjoyed his company.

Even now, in the early hours of the morning (just a couple before she would have to get up to tend to the crops, Chell noted wryly), after they both had been plagued with ill dreams, there was comfort; there was warmth.

Chell was _fond_ of him...she _liked_ him. He was a bit clumsy and definitely disliked being alone, but he tried to be helpful, and still attempted to function (and even smile around her) despite all he had been through.

"Really, like a puppy...a lovable puppy. You're...asleep, aren't you." Chell laughed quietly as she came to the realization that, yes, he had fallen back asleep in her arms.

Amused, Chell moved her hand to rest it in his hair, and caught sight of a dreamy grin on his face as he nuzzled into the touch even in his sleep.

That nearly set her off into laughter, again. "Completely like a puppy...except _you_ don't chew on the furniture."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	6. Ch6: The Truth

Disclaimer says: I do not own!

Second to last chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6: The Truth

Though he was physically getting better, the stitched wounds on his abdomen now fading to scars while he could limp around, and the cast was off his arm in favor of just a wrapped dressing, Chell could tell that Wheatley's mental state was getting worse.

He caught onto writing fairly quickly, and thankfully felt just fine writing with his right hand, it was just that there were some hiccups in it; Chell had crop raising, trading, and selling to do, so it took two weeks to finish the lessons.

Since he couldn't speak, she never heard him wake up screaming, but the slightly dark circles under his eyes as they got to the end of the alphabet was an indication that he wasn't sleeping well.

That was another reason it took so long, as instead of some lessons, Chell would sit on an armchair with a book and instruct him to take a nap on the couch so that he could actually get some rest.

He had been clumsy since day one, but it was growing even more pronounced, as he sometimes knocked over breakable items on accident.

Like this instance.

"Don't," Chell warned him when he whispered "I'm sorry" and moved to pick up the shards of glass.

The last time he had tried to clean it up before she reacted in time, he cut his fingers open.

"It's alright," Chell assured him. "Just stay on the couch, feet away from the floor...I'll vacuum it up."

Wheatley looked away guiltily. He was trying to help her by carrying dishes, and doing chores despite his injuries, but somehow, he just managed to mess it up. Of course, some of that could be chalked up to the fact that he knew that the truth was going to come out soon; he was understandably nervous.

He watched blankly as Chell went about vacuuming. It added more stabs of guilt since she was so _patient_ with him. Wheatley curled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his chin on his knees. _She never raises her voice, even when I mess up...like that time I tried to make cooked eggs for her and learned what a "fire extinguisher" was._

To Chell, it appeared as if he was well meaning, but didn't quite know how to properly use his hands and limbs for daily life tasks. As she put the vacuum away, she was sure that he _could_ learn (he was often fascinated with the farm work, and would sometimes come out to watch her before she ushered him back into the house to rest), and how quickly he was able to grasp writing was proof (even _if_ he often held the pencil like a preschool kid would).

Then again, if he was a Test subject at Aperture, she could understand that; Test subjects weren't required to read or write, just understand what the little images on the walls of the test chambers meant, how to land on their feet, and which end of the Portal Gun to use.

When Chell returned to where he sat, curled guiltily on the couch, she decided that it was time to take a try at two-sided communication.

They had gone through the alphabet, and he now knew how to write the letters (though sloppily). Since he _could_ read, that meant that he knew his words and typically how to spell them, it was just using his fingers and hand to make the letters that he had to be taught.

"Hey," Chell called to try and get his attention. She knew better than to reach out and touch him when he wasn't looking at her; he always jumped at a touch that came out of nowhere these days.

Wheatley looked up hesitantly at the soft voice. Inside, the same war was waging in him that had been for two weeks. _Stop being so nice to me. Don't you realize what's going to happen when you find out who I am? I can write, now...today's lesson was it. It'll be that much harder to not be hurt when I'm dumped in a field._

His nightmares always involved her abandoning him; she would either torture him (akin to what GLaDOS would do, and sometimes, their voices even _merged_ in his darkest dreams) and then dump him somewhere, tie him to a tree in the middle of a field, or take him back to where she found him and leave him amongst the trash and the dead bodies of other Test Subjects and the human-turned-cores.

"Pup?" Chell called again to bring him back to the present. She had taken to calling him 'Pup' or 'Puppy', and he seemed alright with that nickname.

Wheatley blinked and snapped himself back to the present, then his insides went cold when he realized what was being set on the coffee table in front of him:

A pad of paper and a pencil.

Since lessons were over, and he had proved that he could write the alphabet, this could only mean one thing.

Every single dreaded scenario played in his mind as he stared in horror at the papers, as well as that slight bit of self-preservation that still whispered for him to lie about his name.

Wheatley shook that voice off. _I won't lie to her on top of everything else._

Chell sat next to him on the couch. She couldn't understand why he was so nervous and jumpy all of a sudden, and how pale his face had gotten. Perhaps he was worried that he couldn't communicate properly?

"Even if it's hard to read or words aren't spelled correctly, I won't get angry," Chell attempted to placate him.

Wheatley glanced at her uncertainly.

By the way his eyebrows were furred, Chell knew that there was something else wrong, but for the life of her, couldn't figure out what. She, herself, hadn't had any more nightmares since that one a couple weeks ago, and it hadn't really been a _nightmare_ as just a memory that played out in her dreams for some unknown reason.

"You have a name, right?" Chell asked in a soft tone, an attempt to soothe whatever anxieties plagued him.

Wheatley took the pencil in his cold, clammy hand and nodded. He felt slightly ill as his hand shook slightly.

"Do you remember your name?" Chell continued.

This was it; he could easily just shake his head and lie. He could make something up, and not have to be abandoned and hurt...

_No._

Wheatley nodded, then leaned over the paper.

Chell was surprised when he covered what he was doing so she couldn't see what he was writing, so she just leaned back and crossed her arms in order to wait.

Wheatley's handwriting was far from the best, but this time, it was barely legible. Still, he had to make sure, make absolutely bloody _sure_, that he included the additional words.

Tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them back as he shakily took his time so that it would be legible. For someone that always had so many words to say, he really couldn't think of many to write on the paper, and just went with something simple.

Finally, he moved back from the paper, and curled his legs to his chest once more, arms wrapped around his abdomen, and his forehead on his knees so he wouldn't have to see whatever horrible expression she made when she realized it.

Chell picked up the paper after a curiously confused glance at his fetal position, then looked back at the paper.

For a moment, her mind went blank. She knew very well how to read and write, even before she had been a Test Subject. She enjoyed reading stories (as long as they weren't science fiction) and novels, but her brain just sort of shut down for a moment.

For a moment, she didn't process what was on the paper.

Three, simple words, and it took her a long time to process and connect them.

_Wheatley_

_I'm sorry_

Now, "Wheatley" wasn't exactly a common name, but she could have written it off as a huge coincidence, since the Wheatley she had known was about the size and shape of a soccer ball.

Those last two words, however...

But, _how_?

Oh, wait...it was _Aperture_. If they were capable of putting a human mind into a computer, why not the other way around?

Chell looked over at the shivering man. "You're..._that_ Wheatley?"

Wheatley felt like he had no strength to lift his head, and since he couldn't speak, he just nodded. He waited for something to happen; for her to grab her gun, to hit him, to tell him to get out, to knock him out and leave him somewhere...

His mouth felt dry, and the tears were already flowing down his cheeks and falling onto his pants. His knee didn't like being bent in this current angle, but he didn't dare move.

Chell re-read the paper, then looked over at him. She didn't know what to think, as she watched his quaking shoulders and how his body shook so violently that it was amazing he hadn't shaken himself off the couch. The pencil he had been holding had fallen to the floor sometime, and to her...

_...he looks like a puppy that knew it did something wrong, and is waiting for punishment._

Chell recalled her thoughts on the core Wheatley; the one she had met in the facility. Yes, he had done some horrible things, but only after he was plugged into that central mainframe.

What was the core Wheatley like before that?

A bit bumbling...alright, that hadn't changed much, but...talkative and helpful...very optimistic...

She hadn't paid much attention, since up until he freed her completely from the testing (in that short period of time where he carefully led her through the maze of Aperture's catwalks, when they messed up the turret production line, and put the neurotoxin offline), he had just been another _thing_ created by the place she loathed.

But the Wheatley she had gotten to know since she saved him from that robot in the fields...

He was still a bit bumbling, and tried to be helpful, but...he was also sweet and kind. He never demanded anything of her, seemed to feel bad whenever she had to do all the work, tried his hardest to learn about the outside world and not waste her time, keep her company (and follow her around like a chick when he was out of the wheelchair), and smiled at her.

He craved gentle physical contact, was afraid of the dark (and white rooms), was friendly yet shy when it came to the other farmers, and had gone through a similar (if not perhaps a slightly more intense) hell in Aperture as a Test Subject.

Chell took a deep breath, then let it out.

They were similar, but completely different.

"How long have you known?" Chell inquired quietly.

Wheatley couldn't tell how she felt, since her tone was neutral, and held up a shaking finger, then tapped what could be seen of the frame of his glasses behind his ear.

"Since you got the glasses? You didn't know who I was before then?" Chell made sure she had it right.

Wheatley nodded to the first question, then shook his head to the second. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._he shivered and hugged himself tighter.

"Is this why you started freaking out at the optometrist? Because you recognized me?"

Wheatley nodded. _Please...no more questions...just throw me out and be done with it..._

Chell looked at the ceiling a moment, then came to the startling conclusion that she didn't even have to think about how to go about this one. _I decided it long ago, didn't I? That I like this man's presence...that I like _**_him_**_. Knowing he's Wheatley...he's not the same Wheatley that was a core, and he's not the same Wheatley that was corrupted by the mainframe. _

She had sent him to outer space, and from there, he somehow (obviously) crashed back to Earth and made it into GLaDOS's clutches, turned into a human, forced to run Test gauntlets...

Chell reached up, then gently rapped her knuckles against his head in the same scolding gesture that she did whenever he tried to talk.

Wheatley jerked slightly, but had been prepared for much, much worse in terms of punishment. _Wait, that's the same tap as when I try to speak with this injury..._

He didn't dare raise his head, though. Actually, it was as if he didn't have the energy to do so (stemming from not having the mental courage for it). He had wronged her so utterly and completely, promising escape, betraying her, then trying to kill her...

"You've been punished enough."

Wheatley's eyes widened behind his frames, though he still didn't dare lift his head. His nose was still running along with his eyes, but this statement made him gasp slightly in surprise.

"This was the cause of the jumpy behavior over the past week and a half, wasn't it."

Wheatley wasn't sure if it was a question or not, but still nodded as his breathing hitched.

"That mainframe corrupted you, and you know you did something bad."

Wheatley gave a small nod. _I'd describe it as "monstrous", but if you want to go with "bad"...well I'd still say "monstrous"..._

"How long have you been feeling guilty over this?" Chell knew it wasn't a yes or no question, but it still escaped.

Wheatley curled up tighter and shivered. He didn't know how to answer that. _Since I was cast into space. _

"Long enough, I'm willing to guess."

She didn't _sound_ angry, but...was this the calm before the storm?

"Wheatley..."

She said his name...

"...look at me."

It wasn't angry, and it wasn't a command.

Wheatley trembled all the same, and just buried his head further into his knees. He couldn't lift his head. He wanted to...but he was terrified of what he would see. All those images of her murderous or hate-filled expressions from his nightmares filled his head, and he silently sobbed.

"It's alright, Wheatley. Please, lift your head."

She said...it was alright? No it wasn't! _I had...to her...that's not alright! Nothing is! And then, even though I couldn't exactly tell her who I was, I didn't even try until now...didn't rush it or initiate it..._

"Please."

The soft tone and that one word did it.

Wheatley sniffled, then slowly raised his head. His vision was blurry again, but that was because of the tears and not his glasses malfunctioning, as much as he would have loved to blame them.

Chell noticed that, even though he did manage to lift his head, he still averted his gaze. So, she slowly placed a hand to his cheek, and wiped away one of his tears. "Look at me, Wheatley. You can do it."

For some reason, even though he felt sick, cold, and like curling up in a hole or dying, Wheatley obeyed, and gazed up at her mournfully.

Chell didn't need any words; didn't need him to speak. She could _see_ the guilt in his eyes; the same emotion that she hadn't been sure of what it meant over the past two weeks, but much more pronounced.

The fear, the anxiety...all there in his watery eyes.

Chell moved slowly so as not to startle him, though she did feel him jump when she pressed up against his side, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders though she never took her gaze off of his face.

Wheatley, too, was trapped in her slate gray eyes, for they held no contempt, no hate, no anger...in fact, if he had to guess, he would say they were almost...compassionate.

"I'm not angry at you. In the facility, I was...but you've been punished enough. You know what you did wrong, and you feel bad about it to the point where...has this been the cause of your nightmares of late?"

Wheatley nodded haltingly and worried his lip. The arm around him felt good and warm...but he didn't understand _why_.

"You're not that same Wheatley. As the one I met in Aperture. Over the past couple weeks, I've gotten to know you...the _true _you. You never even threw a fit...well, except that one time when you threw the pencil across the room because you were having trouble with one of the letters."

He remembered that.

Chell continued, "How you were as a core...and the corruption when you were plugged into the chassis...neither of them were truly _you_. A designed idiot or an evil dictator...those aren't _Wheatley_. This puppy-like man here, right here with me, is who you truly are."

Chell held him closer. "It might take a while to heal, and there are times when I still recall or have nightmares about those days in Aperture. But this is one that you can let go. I've come to trust this man, here...this one I found while laying down fencing. This sincere, helpful, curious puppy of a man. I forgive you, so...just _let go_, Wheatley."

It was as if all the dams had broken.

He wasn't going to be abandoned in a field.

Or in a hole.

Or back in Aperture.

Or tied to a tree and shot.

Or...or anything else he had feared.

He wasn't hated, or beaten, or left to fend for himself...

He was _forgiven_.

_Let go._

And he did.

As if all the weight had suddenly come off his shoulders, he collapsed into her lap, sobbing piteously and clutching at her shirt.

_You're too kind. I'm so, so sorry...I'll never ever do it again...don't even know what came over me. Maybe that corruption thing you were talking about. But all the same, never ever...I had pictured so many ways this could go, but I never imagined that you'd..._

_...well...forgive me. You're an angel. I wish I could tell you that. If I can ever talk again, I will, too...tell you that you're an angel. I don't even know what I'm thinking anymore...it's all muddled...but..._

_...thank you. I know I don't deserve forgiveness, let alone everything you've done for me. Or maybe, "this" Wheatley does. Or at least, "this" Wheatley is getting another chance...and I'm not going to screw it up. Not this time. I want to stay here...I'm being allowed to stay here..._

_It's more than I deserve. Thank you, Chell. I don't feel so bad anymore...or cold. I'm sorry...and thank you._

Chell gently removed his glasses so that he wouldn't hurt himself, then set them aside and rubbed his back soothingly. No words were needed, and even if they were, Chell didn't know if she could find the right ones for this situation.

They had found each other again without even knowing it, and it would take time to heal all the wounds but for now, being with each other, safely in a place called "home", away from the nightmares of the past...

_Let go._

...it was enough.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	7. Ch7: Epilogue

Standard disclaimers apply. If I owned anything even remotely related to Portal 2, I wouldn't be broke.

Final chapter!

* * *

Chapter 7: Epilogue

"Hey, Wheatley! Have you picked the ripe ones?" Chell called as she hefted the basket of carrots she had collected.

The response was a quiet call and a wave, and then Wheatley managed to stumble over.

Chell laughed as he tripped over a rake, but caught him before he fell.

Wheatley, dressed in a pair of denim jeans, boots, and a blue tee with a straw hat that matched Chell's to keep the sun off his head and neck, grinned sheepishly at her. "At least I didn't spill them this time. That's definitely an improvement. Not spilling them, I mean."

Chell grinned and helped him regain his balance. Much to their delight, he had been able to regain his voice. He was still unable to shout or raise his voice too loud, but the doctors expected him to make a full recovery and soon be able to scream loudly whenever there was a bee, instead of just mouth "bee, bee" and run in circles while waving his arms in a panic.

"Let's load it into the truck. All of our pickings are going to the grocer today. We've got enough eggs, milk, and cheese from Old Man Arnold's, and he doesn't need any vegetables right now," Chell explained.

Teaching Wheatley how to help out around the farm hadn't been too difficult, as he often watched her do it (it being an organic farm, with no pesticides, also helped to keep things simple). Of course, there were those tiny mishaps that were usually attributed to him being just a tad (okay, very) clumsy, but he always meant well, and was far from the "moron" that GLaDOS had painted him as.

Then again, he was no longer _that_ Wheatley; he was slowly finding himself and who he was, and having Chell's forgiveness and trust was a huge step in doing so.

So, Chell let him help out around the farm, though he was to stay clear away from the stove and oven unless she was there to supervise.

The microwave, he had at least managed to get the hang of.

Well, after nearly being barred from that by putting something with aluminum foil in there.

That had nearly resulted in Chell getting a new microwave, and had been the first time Wheatley actually managed to speak as he chorused "I'm sorry" about five times before they both realized that he had _spoken_.

Then, there had been cheering, jumping up and down in joy (on Wheatley's part), and opening of the windows because the kitchen had still been filled with smoke from aforementioned microwave.

Chell shook off the memories as she placed her baskets next to one filled with cucumbers and peppers.

Wheatley carefully placed his own basket down, then let out a breath of relief. "Nothing fell out this time!"

"I think we're both very happy about that." Chell smirked, then opened the car door now that they had everything. "Let's get started. We have an extra stop to make."

Wheatley sobered slightly, and glanced at the wooden markers in the truck bed, before he gave a nod and climbed in after he covered the vegetables so they wouldn't be directly exposed to the sun.

* * *

The drive was pleasant, but instead of turning immediately into the town, they pulled into a small area of land surrounded by a fence. The grass was green, and there were dirt pathways that formed into rows and columns that stretched out about the length of a farm field.

Only, instead of crops, there were markers, from straight wooden poles to slightly blocky stone ones with writing on them. Even some of the straight ones had writing, or some kind of paint on them to mark them properly.

It was the town's cemetery. There was a smaller one attached to it for pets, and rather than giving off an eerie vibe, with the grass and flowers that grew between graves and around the fences, it gave off a feeling of final resting.

Chell carried some of the broad wooden poles on her shoulder, while Wheatley was in charge of carrying the tools.

There weren't any people there yet, and Chell was thankful of that fact, as they made their way up to the section that they had been working on.

Though there had been nothing to bury under the ground, that didn't stop her from creating a previous marker for a home-made headstone, and it certainly wouldn't stop them this time.

Wheatley paused at the spot, then looked at her with a slightly anxious expression. He never liked being in the graveyard, even though Chell assured him that there were no actual bodies (cremation, she had called it), but the term "graveyard" still put him ill at ease.

It wasn't unexpected, as he had been considered "junk" to be thrown in Aperture's "graveyard" with the others.

Chell admitted that she tried to recover the bodies to Wheatley one day, but had found the area burned; apparently, that was how Aperture got rid of the "trash" they threw outside until the incinerator was working again. Rather, she just finished fencing off the area, and never looked back.

"Chell?" Wheatley questioned quietly.

"Do you want to do his grave, and I'll take care of the others?" Chell had been surprised when Wheatley told her one day that he wished there was some place to give his dead friends a proper burial, after he told her what happened in Aperture before his "escape".

So, Chell managed to reserve four spots in the cemetery, and that they wished to remain responsible for placing the markers, themselves.

Wheatley hesitated, then answered, "Yea. And...I'll also do..._that_ grave."

Chell, who had placed the markers down, gave him a comforting embrace.

Wheatley took in a deep and shaky breath, then let it out. "We'd...best get to it. You know, before the sun really comes up, and the vegetables all fry. Would...sort of be counter-productive to all the work, and all...the vegetables baking in the sun, I mean..."

Chell chuckled and withdrew from him. "Alright."

Silently, the two worked, finishing what needed to be done in order to place the wooden gravestones.

Wheatley's hands trembled as he came to the final one. A glance over told him that Chell was securing the first two, and he had already placed the third. Tears had rolled down his cheeks during it, but this one was much tougher to secure in the ground with his shaking hands.

Suddenly, there was a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He didn't jump anymore, since he knew these touches to be Chell's. This time, he didn't look at her, but just took another deep breath to steady himself.

It had been Chell's idea to do this particular one, and at the time, he readily agreed, as it was a way to feel that he permanently lay the past to rest.

But, bloody hell, it was hard.

Still, knowing she was there; knowing she was right next to him, with him all the way...that she had forgiven him that time, and still liked the person he was...

Wheatley glanced at the very first marker that Chell had put in, one she told him about when she first explained about the cemetery.

Then, his eyes went to the ones that they had put in today, and finally, the one in his hands.

"Do it." Chell encouraged him gently.

Brave...she kept calling him brave throughout his entire ordeal; since she had found him, and every step he took along the way. Even when he took steps back, or seemed to backslide a little, she was there to help pull him back on track again.

It was time to be brave again.

Wheatley was resolute, now. It was time. No, it was _past_ time to do this.

He planted the marker in the ground, and worked until he knew it wasn't going to come up, just like the other hand-placed markers in that cemetery.

For a moment, when he finished, he just stared at his work as the spade dropped from his gloved hands.

Chell had taken her own gloves off and put the equipment away, then gently tugged off his gloves and bundled them up with hers to be taken back to the truck.

Wheatley remained in his kneeling position, then blinked when a hand went into his field of vision.

Chell smiled down at him.

Wheatley returned the smile and let her help him to his feet. Once again, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders as he gazed at the markers.

From the first one that had been Chell's own burial of the past, to the ones that honored his friends, to the last one...

* * *

_"Rick, Craig, and Leo? You gave them names?" Chell had said when she saw the wood markers. _

_"I didn't...well...maybe I did. Adventure called himself 'Rick'. And Fact always liked the name 'Craig'. Space...well...it fits, right? It has to do with space..."_

_Chell didn't question him further._

* * *

Wheatley wiped his eyes from tears as he felt Chell's arm slide around his shoulders.

"You did it," Chell said in a proud whisper. "So you can truly let go, now. It's all been laid to rest. We've got the rest of our lives ahead of us, now."

Wheatley stared at the wooden grave a moment, then turned and hugged Chell tightly.

Yet, his tears had dried, and after a moment, a smile broke out on his face as she returned the embrace.

He was no longer dragging a weight around with him, and they both knew that. There might always be some regret, and some guilt, but they would deal with it if tried to rise again.

Right now, though, it was buried as it should be, in the past.

Chell waited, then took Wheatley's hand when he pulled back. "You alright?"

Wheatley took in a breath of the fresh air, then smiled brilliantly at her. "More than alright. I feel...well..._alive_."

"Good, because we might not be if that delivery is late. You know how cranky that woman gets."

Wheatley laughed. "Bloody hell, do I! She was rather adamant on her attempts to chase me with that broom of hers! A _broom_! A right menace, she is! Dunno why the bloke with her keeps her in charge!" He paused a moment to look back at the graves.

Chell squeezed his hand. "We can always come back."

Wheatley turned his attention back to her, and smiled softly. "Only for those three in the middle. Let the others stay buried."

"They shouldn't be forgotten. Just...laid to rest," Chell reminded him as they walked out.

"Oh...right! Right...I think I get it...this is all a big simile, right?"

"Metaphor, more like."

"Right! That was it...always mix those two up."

Chell chuckled. "Many people do."

Wheatley, in high spirits, beamed at her. "Hey, maybe when we get back, I'll cook up something special! Like...um...brownies! Those are brilliant!"

Chell grinned. "Alright..."

"YAY!"

"...but you're still not allowed to use the oven alone."

"Aw, come on! That was only once! Alright, maybe _more_ than once...but not too many! Okay, maybe it _was_ many. But...um, you'll be watching! I mean, how many times can I nearly set the kitchen on fire? There's _got_ to be a limit. There has to be!"

Chell just laughed.

After a moment of trying to persuade her to let him use the oven, Wheatley just let himself laugh, as well.

As they walked away, back to the truck, they left behind and buried five markers, from Chell's first one, to the four they just placed. The words on Chell's was a little faded, but still easy to read, and the new ones were also legible, though done in what Wheatley called his "handwriting".

_The Mute Lady_

_Craig_

_Rick_

_Leo_

_The Wheatley Core_

Under all of the names was the same message:

_Rest in Peace._

**THE END**

* * *

A big thank you to the readers that kept up with the story, and an even bigger "thank you" to those that took the time to review (and such positive feedback, too!).


End file.
